Prey
by Rahima04
Summary: Farfarellos ventetta against God, it is a solitary fight which nobody understands. But this matters little and he is winning, oneshot.


**Prey**

He stood waiting quietly for his turn.

He was going to break this soul. It was young, untried, and naive. Teaching it would be easy, this 'innocent mind' would soon see that Yes there were true monsters in this world, and the boys precious all mighty God had created them.

The boy would pray to God to save him, in vain. God wouldn't save him and if he tried he would fail just like he had failed so many countless times before, that was a certainty. But Farfarello was not finished, he would never be finished. The crimes were to grave. 

True penance for what the lord had done would never be reached.

The line moved forward.

Blood lust began to cloud his thoughts, preparing him, getting him ready for another battle, another victory. His punishments were always worth his success's, The confinements of the Jacket gave him time to think, reflect and to plan.

His thoughts turn to his past punishments inflicted towards their 'Almighty God' as he planned for his next blow. He reached the front of the line and quickly entered, drawing the dark velvet curtain behind him.

They would not be interrupted, he had waited for this, to be the final torment, and then to very finally end this existence and send the boy rocketing gratefully towards the next.

The boy behind the thin mesh nodded at him to begin. Such an open invitation, Farfarello began.

"Forgive me Farther, for I have sinned."

He started with his oldest memories, Gods many betrayals, his faults. He spoke of when he had first started to fight back against their Holy oppressor, the joy he had felt at finally knowing he was doing the right thing, the only thing.

Talking in a smooth loving voice, he spoke of the pleasantries of his perfectly normal life. He shared his secrets with the boy, a smile on his face just for him.

He told the priest of how he never understood the fear in his victims eyes as he slowly calved their lives away limb by limb with his beautiful tool of justice. Oh good the priest was afraid, he should be. It would be his turn soon.

"To more resent ventures now I think", he said in his dark monotonic voice through the thin mesh; the shivering pathetic boy wanted to leave with all his being, but couldn't. Farfarello loved it when they froze, it was so satisfying to be able to take as long as he desired.

"You want cry out to your brothers don't you." It was not a question.

He continued on with his story. The choir girl had been lovely he had carved her, like a beautiful piece of clay, a true masterpiece he had made her. Now she was even lovelier. Long golden locks had once framing her pretty face, a splattered angel now. He had laughed at his contradicting work, good and evil, right and wrong. The girl, like a true angel, a true angel that had been defeated and left to rot on the cold hard grounds of reality.

The newspapers never had showed those pictures, to gruesome. Like they could control humans natural attraction to all that was ugly in the world.

She had represented his pain and his suffering, all which was Gods fault. He had not granted her praying just as God would not, preying on her love of life, she was worth killing.

At the slightest remorse he had cut deeper fighting the lord, HOW DARE HE MAKE HIM FEEL!, He accepted that God would judge and punish him for his defiance, he understood this. And in return it was fair that he Farfarello would be the judger and punisher for His sins.

God hardly even tried anymore, He knew it was in vain, that pathetically human little Jei was lost, gone forever. It had been God's will. Farfarello knew that remorse, fear, pain, regret these were Gods tools His weapons, and so they were meaningless to Farfarello.

He had carved his poetry into them all, sharing his message with the world. It never listened, that was why he had to try harder, try, try, Try again. He had cut away the girls angelic locks, a symbol of Gods vanity towards his creations, just one of the many other meaningless emotions. He broke her, the fine china doll, shattered.

Beyond repair, her skull against the cold wall, the cold world.

He left then, he could hear the distress from the priest, the boy was barely holding it together. The fear had paralysed him, Gods tools helping him win. Cracking hope wide open and bearing it to the cruel world, he loved it. He destroyed their faith in this all seeing uncaring force.

He turned and waited outside the curtain quietly, waiting with open arms for the priest. He came out at a run, tears on his clammy cheek, into the welcoming arms of his death.

The priest tried to cry out in horror, tried to let out a scream. Anticipated and muffled instantly, he pushed them both back into the small dim dark box.

The fear, the unanswered prays, the faith, he drank it in and poured it out into his new masterpiece and over the floor. Just another victory in his vendetta against God.

The war raged on as he left the now silent and empty church, in his blood stained Sunday best.  
He was no angel, but he was better than them. He reached into his pocket and touched the lock of golden hair,

And smiled, he was winning.


End file.
